Archives For October 2014

Recently I had a cool opportunity to share about creating portraits for my sweet friend Julie Holly’s sermon serie, The Faces of Jesus, at Canterbury United Methodist Church here in Birmingham.

Now, my nerves were threatening to get the best of me as soon as my den was overtaken with a big ol’ camera, a bunch of bright lights, and I got hooked up to a microphone. But thanks to the kind cameraman, I did my thing as best I could.

I hesitated to share the video, you know how we humans pick ourselves apart, but they did such a good job making it, and it’s not everyday you get to share what you do in a video, so here goes nothing:

The Garden

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 23, 2014 — 5 Comments

For months, I’ve been consumed with my latest project:

My fabulous front yard garden.

I’ve researched, I’ve measured, I’ve sketched and planned. I’ve shoveled dirt, I’ve carried rocks, I’ve moved buckets and buckets of soil. I’ve planted, I’ve watered, I’ve problem solved, I’ve watched food grow, I’ve eaten produce from my front yard.

With my trusty helpers, including the 2 year old, we have made my dream a reality and I have to admit I am super proud – giddy even. If you follow my blog, you may remember my post from St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, when I was first inspired to plant the garden. Well, I’m happy to say I DID IT. I did it!!! And if you follow me on Facebook, you’ve been barraged with garden doodles.

In planting, I tried to be responsible – environmentally, economically and practically. After a persistent search, I found an amazing deal on recycled fire bricks ($25 a ton!) to edge my garden. I ordered a huge dump truck load of soil at the best price. I compost and I now own a $40 rain barrel. I ordered non GMO seeds ($.99 sample packs!) from seedsnow.com and they grew. I shop at my local Homewood Garden Shop and have healthy blueberry bushes and lovely plants.

I worked my butt off building and planting this garden.

Beginning at the end of August, in the Alabama heat, I made it happen with my ever-present garden buddy. My kids, especially my son, now understand exactly where food comes from and how to grow it and care for it. My son waters it, pulls grass out of it, harvests the radishes, and takes a walk through it every time I open the door.

My garden is planted to grow community.

I didn’t know how that would work, but the first day I was out there I had real conversations with a dozen people, neighbors and passers-by. I share food with my neighbors and have met all sorts of new people. My kids tell anyone who asks about the plants growing, and I find that food is an easy thing to discuss, a common denominator.

My favorite story happened a few weeks ago. As we walked home from school, I began talking to an older lady about rosemary, as our kids were smelling it by someone’s mailbox. I just made a quick comment, not aiming at anything, not trying too hard. A few words later, we were talking about my garden. She was interested and missed her garden, as she said, “in my country, we have sun everyday and I grow many plants.” As we parted ways, I told her to stop by anytime and see the garden and take some herbs.

A week later, she stopped me at the corner with her two grandsons and asked if they could walk down to see the garden. On our short stroll, I find out they are from Haiti, and that her entire family was there during the earthquake except for her. She had arrived in the US four days before the quake for a wedding, and was plagued with anxiety over the separation at such a time. I now know her name, I know a portion of her amazing story, and the kids all ran together along the stepping stones of my garden.

Growing something, overcoming obstacles (like cats, cabbage worms, flooding rains, aphids…), being faithfully attentive and persistent…you learn things from gardening. About life, about children, about the world. I feel at peace and connected to nature when I’m checking the leaves and hearing the spray of water hitting the thick pile of green collards. It is a small miracle to see a snow pea sprout and grow out of the dirt, mere days after planting. There are more benefits to this garden than I can name.

My Garden Doodles thus far:

 

 

3rd Grade

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 20, 2014 — 1 Comment
Homework, ink doodle

Homework, ink doodle

I’m slowly realizing as the days go by, that with the advent of my daughter entering 3rd grade, things are rapidly changing.

3rd grade is hard.

3rd grade does not mess around.

3rd grade means more homework and less fun.

3rd grade math makes me feel dumb sometimes.

3rd grade means my daughter is passing out of the “little kid” stage into something else…some fuzzy middle area before the preteen stage (*gasp*).

But she’s still only 8, almost 9. And she is a rockstar.

And I love her.

And I have to help her with a lot of terrible homework.

But we’re in it together.

Reading, ink doodle

Reading, ink doodle

Dominoes

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 17, 2014 — 2 Comments

With a ramekin of Raisinets and a game of dominoes carefully laid, we sit in a quiet house changed by time. Same waxy table and wooden chairs, same salt shaker, same floors, same smells, different people.

I used to be the small child playing on my grandparents’ floor in this den. My grandmother would be cooking in the flagstone kitchen, the smell of southern specialties like no other filling our noses and making our stomachs growl. My grandfather would be sitting in his navy recliner, telling us about the fish mounted on the wall or his latest wood-working project. Chipmunks and birds scurried and hopped on the flowered mountainside out the tall windows.

Dominoes, detail, watercolor

Dominoes, detail, watercolor

But today a different crew sits with elbows on the table. My grandfather runs this house now and acts as eager host. My grandmother rests not far away, getting the care she needs in a different place. My two oldest children make their own memories with their great grandfather in this same room, with a tournament of dominoes and hors d’oeuvres of sardines on crackers with tabasco. My daughter turns up her nose, as expected, but my son forms a bond of sardines with Paw Paw, the only two to enjoy such a treat.

Seven games later and snacks devoured, memories are made, added to, reflected upon. A special time for my kids; a bittersweet time for me. Time moves and carries on, we age and change, get busy and get lonely. Too long we wait to visit, too little we think of others as we go about our days.

Domino games and mismatched snacks don’t come often enough, and it is so hard to change. My emotions ebb and flow as I create this picture. Thinking of the old and the young, my life and my past, the simple things that can mean so very much if we just pay attention.

Dominoes, 12x12 watercolor

Dominoes, 12×12 watercolor

Grandaddy

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 15, 2014 — 2 Comments

Grandaddy, ink doodleMy Grandaddy just turned 97 years old, and I have to say, he is one of the coolest people I know. My little family and I had the privilege to live with him for a year during our move back to Birmingham in 2008, and that remains one of our favorite experiences.

Grandaddy is sharp, hilarious and awesome. He eats a big breakfast at his table every morning, and after a year of joining him for eggs, bacon, toast, strawberries, milk, juice and coffee, the Ingrams still sit down each morning for breakfast together no matter what.

I read his old mysteries, which fill my shelves, and we rotate Dick Francis books between three of us: me, Grandaddy and my Dad, always making sure to sign our name in the front cover after we finish. He cares about people, and has lived a rich life, full of stories and jokes. He loves my grandmother, who taught me to paint and draw and create, and years after her death, he remarried in his 90s and is a happy, funny man.

Everybody who knows him can’t get enough of Buddy Moses. He’s a cool chap.

Grandaddy, ink doodle

Grandaddy, ink doodle

 

Dia de Los Muertos

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 12, 2014 — 4 Comments

Day of the Dead bannerLast night my husband returned from San Antonio, bearing gifts and stories and impressions. He’s been before, but this time, his trip was marked by a tradition somewhat unfamiliar:

Dia de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead.

Sure, we know what it is: the (mostly) Mexican tradition of honoring ancestors, remembering and celebrating their life and welcoming their spirits return for the celebration, the night of October 31st through November 2nd. We see images of decorated, colorful skulls, skeletons, flowers, and ofrendas. But being the Scotch-Irish Americans we are, it is not a part of our culture or yearly celebration.

When our son received his San Antonio t-shirt with a decorated skull on the front, he knew instantly the significance, thanks to elementary school Spanish class. When I unfurled my Day of the Dead banner, our daughter gasped and clapped, remembering the same recent lesson at school.

I then realized, I’m a little rusty on the full comprehension of this fascinating cultural celebration…. So I researched and read. I love gathering information, understanding and absorbing new experiences. In my reading, I came across this:

“Day of the Dead is becoming very popular in the US – perhaps because we don’t have a way to celebrate and honor our dead.”

Day of the Dead seems so macabre, mysterious. Seeing kids with candy skulls and toy coffins, skeletons riding bicycles, painting faces to look like skulls…it’s not what most of my demographic is used to. Death is to be feared. When someone we love dies, we try to move past it, push it away, we try to forget about death and just remember life.

With Dia de Los Muertos, something sad and scary is made beautiful, colorful, full of life and celebration. Through art, music and life, the dead are remembered, not just at one funeral, but every year. Hmmm. It makes you think…

In reflection, I drew a self-portrait this morning.

Self Portrait, ink

Self Portrait, ink

 

Then I redrew it, and through the magic of art, added “Sugar Skull Face Paint.” It’s hard to see a skull and not think “creepy”; death makes us uncomfortable, or at least it makes me uncomfortable.

But it is part of life, and life in all its forms is to be celebrated.

Dia de Los Muertos, ink & marker

Dia de Los Muertos, ink & marker